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Ithaca’s debut is an invitation for whiplash. The young, politically principled band vault between genres like they’re playing a game, and sonic homogeneity is lava. Conflicting elements butt up against one another as the band pits noise rock against post-rock, metalcore against doom, and expectations of what a metalcore band should sound like against the reality of what they’re doing.

A passion for experimentation underpins every move they make here, and the band’s origin story—that the members came together “out of a mutual love of metallic hardcore but despair at its lack of ambition”—checks out, manifesting in each unexpected note or unfamiliar pairing. A ghostly choir rising above ’90s screamo riffs? Sure. The title track’s marriage of noodly noise rock and stadium crust? You got it. A seamless hybrid of Oathbreaker and Poison the Well with a feminist, anti-Nazi bent? Ithaca’s on the case.

There’s been a good deal of hype around Ithaca already. They’ve landed in an angular, unexpected sweet spot in the UK’s metallic hardcore world, rubbing elbows with forward-thinking bands like Svalbard, Employed to Serve, and Venom Prison—with whom the band, which features members of Arab and Indian descent, share a drive to foster inclusivity and diversity within the extreme music scene. At the same time, they take huge chunks of inspiration from vintage ’90s screamo and noise rock, forcing a meeting of new and old that could have gone direly wrong but has instead found an eager audience. Overall, there's a real lushness to the music, punctuated by skronky jabs of dissonance that add a tense dynamism. It’s also very unpredictable, which is a nice thing for a metalcore band to be in 2019.

Buzz aside, the band’s true strength lies in their ability to employ a diversity of tactics both politically and musically to hammer their end-time message home. Opening track “New Covenant” is a battle cry, and couches its beatdown breakdowns within expanses of frantic picking, spacious post-rock, and vocal misery. “Impulse Crush” ramps up the urgency with squeals of discordant noise rock and crystal-clear tremolo picking, anchoring more triumphant moments like the mid-song break with chugga-chugga aggression. “Secret Space” continues in that vein, breaking through a surge of dizzying, technical guitar work and epic swells of grandiose melody with a heart-rending mid-song acoustic passage that sees versatile vocalist Djamila Azzouz push her voice to the brink. That voice is one of the band’s strongest assets, which makes it even more of a shame when the production occasionally allows it to get unintentionally buried under the sound and the fury (“Better Abuse,” for example, could have hit even harder had the vocals been brought to the fore).

For an album that barely breaks the 30-minute mark, The Language of Injury asks a lot. That progressive, boundary-pushing sensibility informs every moment of the release, which is less pit-ready than anthemic. Some songs, like “Youth Vs Wisdom,” show signs of straightforwardness, but Ithaca’s obsession with progression would never allow for something so boring. “Slow Negative Order” comes drenched in a brittle, shining atmosphere that highlights its lovely vocal harmonies; juxtaposed with Azzouz’s feral bark and juddering guitars, the melodicism ebbs and flows into the relentlessly pretty instrumental interlude “No Translation.”

This soft-to-loud, pretty-to-harsh tactic is a classic entry in the melodic metalcore playbook, and is one that the band pulls out multiple times on The Language of Injury, notably on the soaring “Gilt” and perhaps most effectively in the final salvo, “Better Abuse.” The song begins with a simple melodic riff suspended in waves of reverb, adds in a set of clean vocals dripping in almost gothic splendor, explodes into combative noise, and then ends the album in uncomfortable near-silence. Thankfully, Ithaca keep their listeners guessing until the absolute last second of this album.